


Only Two Things That Money Can't Buy...(and that's true love, and homegrown tomatoes)

by Kestrel337



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has an unexpected skill set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Two Things That Money Can't Buy...(and that's true love, and homegrown tomatoes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LonghornLetters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonghornLetters/gifts).



> LonghornLetters and I had a conversation one night, and this fic was born.

It all started one late January afternoon. After Steve dragged Tony into a lengthy sparring session, Tony dragged Steve into the kitchen. “I’m gonna make the biggest BLTs you ever saw in your life.” 

“Tomatoes aren’t in season.” 

“No, but grocery stores are. Look at these beauties!” Tony held up two plump beefsteaks, cupped lightly in his palms. “I even got the thick-cut applewood bacon you like.”

“You didn’t ‘get’ anything. You had it delivered.” But Steve was laughing and getting down glasses to fill with ice water. 

“Job security for the driver; just doing my part to keep the economy running. Come on, I’m starving. Sprouted twelve grain, or regular ol’ wheat?” 

“I don’t need your fancy bread. Regular wheat’s fine.” 

Tony nodded, pulled out a skillet, and set to work. Twenty minutes later he slid a deli basket, complete with red-checkered lining paper, in front of his boyfriend. 

“You missed your calling. If this ‘earth’s greatest heroes’ thing doesn’t work out, we can start a diner.” 

Tony smirked. “Hey, Jarvis, check and see if the name ‘Ironman Chef’ is available.” 

_I am certain that Captain Rogers was being facetious, sir._

Steve had taken a large bite of his sandwich, and grimaced with distaste. He pointed at the pulpy pink flesh.

“What’s this red stuff?”

“It’s a tomato. BLT; the T is for tomato.” 

Steve put the sandwich gingerly down, and picked up the pickle spear instead. “I know what a BLT is, Tony. I also know what a tomato is. And this” -he pointed to the thick red skin sticking out of the sandwich- “is not a tomato.”

“Those are the very best certified organic tomatoes that money can buy. Grown using authentic Dutch methods and flown in from upstate greenhouses daily.”

Steve nodded his understanding, opened up the sandwich, and pulled out the questionable tomato slices. “Sam makes these with avocado; got any of those?”  


So it was that the first weekend of May found Steve, with help from Clint and Bruce, putting in a roof-top garden on one of the many balcony terraces at Stark Tower. Coulson stopped by, looking suspiciously at the flats full of starts.

Bruce hurriedly reassured him. “Not some crazy weaponized produce. Steve wants real tomatoes.”

Phil nodded almost reverently. “Homegrown tomatoes. Taste just like summer.” He looked over the beds, noted the climbing frame Bruce had erected. “Oh, he’s doing beans, too?” 

“Beans, lettuce, beets. Even got some space for watermelon. ” Bruce pulled the plans over, and pointed out where the different crops would go.

“The Avengers Victory Garden. You should write a blog; pretty soon they’ll be cropping up all over the city.” When everyone just rolled their eyes at his joke, he looked at the plans again. “That’s a lot of tomatoes.”

“Yeah, and Tony’s got some weird heirloom ones down in the workshop. Purple.” 

Steve was laying out the drip-lines, and he shook his head. “Can’t have too many. What we don’t eat fresh, we’ll put up for winter. Mama Casalli’s recipe is better than Pragu any day.” 

“You’re going to be canning?” Bruce asked quickly.

“Everyone needs a hobby,” was Steve’s slightly defensive answer.

“If I got some of the jars, you think you could make pickled watermelon rinds?”

“And maybe some of the beets?” Coulson put in. “Pickled beets are great in a winter salad.”

Steve looked pointedly at Phil. “Best take off that jacket, then. Shame to get it dirty.” 

 

The first tomatoes were ready in early July. Bowls of red and yellow cherry tomatoes became salads, bushel boys were sliced into sandwiches. The romas were drizzled with Tony’s 25 year old balsamic vinegar, topped with fresh mozzarella and a basil leaf, and lightly broiled. 

By the third week in July, Steve was in full swing, blanching and peeling and making more steam than the vent-hood could keep up with. Tony finally cornered him in the kitchen.

“How about a movie night? I’ve got the whole Star Wars trilogy, popcorn, the works.” He picked up the magnetic lid lifter, stuck it to the side of the stove, and began hanging pot holders from it.  
Steve batted his hands away and laid it back on the towel next to steaming pot of lids and rings. “No, thanks. I’ve got this batch of sauce to finish, and then the paste should be ready to jar.” 

Tony blinked around the humid kitchen, looked at how Steve’s hair was straggling damply over his forehead (and really, that shouldn’t have been so adorable). Took in the multiple pressure cookers on the stovetop. 

“Okay, fine. Look, I miss you. I want to spend some time with you. DUM-E can do the grunt work. Just take me an hour or so to update his programming.” He turned on the puppy dog eyes.

“Nope. Not the same thing, Tony.” Steve picked up the wide-mouth funnel and began scooping slices into a hot jar. Tony watched silently, taking in the process. Finally, he picked up the spare funnel.

Steve smiled, and showed him how to lightly squeeze the juice from the slices. “No, not that full. Needs some headspace; ‘bout half an inch.” 

Steve went along the line, adding lemon juice and topping up the jars, while Tony wiped them down, and then added the lids. Steve put them into the canning racks, surreptitiously checking the lids at the same time.

“Pressure canners are great; takes less than half the time.” He turned on the heat, checked the safety valves, and set the timer. 

“Where’d you learn this, if your Mom was always working?” 

Steve leaned nonchalantly against the counter. “HGTV,” he answered, and began to laugh at Tony’s indignant sputtering.

“But...you said...Mama whats-her-name…”

“Mama Casalli. My next door neighbor, back in DC, before Agent 13 moved in. Mama C made the best red-sauce. Knew the best farm stands, too.” 

“Right. You know what I think? I think you deliberately left everyone thinking that. And I think you’re laughing. Right now, behind that sappy ‘oh such sweet memories’ smile, you’re totally laughing at me.” 

Steve ducked his head and quirked his lips, the way he knew Tony loved and couldn’t stand in equal measure. “What if I am?” 

“Stop smirking.” Tony stalked across the kitchen, not stopping until he was right up in Steve’s space.  
Steve stood taller, making the most of their three inch height difference. “You gonna make me?” 

One of Tony’s hands shot out, grabbed the back of Steve’s head, and pulled him into a warm kiss. “Yeah, I am,” he said, releasing Steve’s lips with a resounding smack. 

“Not laughing now.” 

“Nope. So what’s next in this process?”

Steve shook his head, then tilted it back to check the timer. “Ten more minutes on the timer. Then we take out the jars, put them on that towel over there, and wait for them to cool.” 

“So we can go watch the movie in ten minutes or so.”

“No, no! That’s actually the best part. We have to stay for a while.”

Tony sighed. “Right. Best part.” The best part, to his way of thinking, was watching Steve bend over to work the soil, or pick the vegetables. Whatever came after the processing probably wasn’t going to be as interesting as Steve’s butt in the snug jeans he wore for gardening.

Fifteen minutes later, they’d pulled out all the jars and lined them up on the folded over towel. 

“Okay, they’re out, what are we waiting-”

“Shhhh!” Steve was staring at the jars, nearly vibrating with excitement. Tony looked from his boyfriend’s expectant face, to the immobile jars lined up on the cabinet. He was turning back to look again at Steve, when the first _Ping!_ sounded, and Steve’s eyes lit up with relief and satisfaction.

“What-” _Ping! Ping-Ping-Ping!_ “-is that?” With each ringing pop, Steve smiled a bit bigger.

“That’s the jars sealing. If they don’t do that, the seal isn’t good and you have to either eat the stuff right away or throw it out. I haven’t heard them all go yet; we might have to make spaghetti.”

“So...it worked. Mostly.” 

“It worked. Mostly.” 

“You made canned tomatoes, and we can have Mama C’s homemade red-sauce all winter long?” 

“All winter long.” 

“You really enjoyed doing this.” 

“There’s something else I really enjoy doing.” 

“Yeah?”

“Movie night. You make the popcorn; I’ll make red-sauce tomorrow.”


End file.
